


I'll Travel East & I'll Travel West

by liionne



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-08 07:36:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/758786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liionne/pseuds/liionne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Les Amis are going to the beach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

As soon as Courfeyrac suggested it, Enjolras knew that a trip to the beach was a bad idea. Hew knew this because of three reasons: firstly, Courfeyrac had suggested it. Secondl, there was business to be done in Paris, even if it was the summer;  and thirdly, he couldn't see his friends coping very well with a mixture of salt water and alcohol.

"I don't think we should go." He said, deciding to voice is opninion.

Bahorel rolled his eyes. Feuilly sighed. "Here we go, Enjolras the party pooper."

Enjolras frowned. "You know it's a bad idea. We're busy this summer - I have that slot on France 24, we have a lot of big meetings, and-"

"Shut up, Enjolras." Courfeyrac groaned, moving from the middle of the room to the corner where Enjolras was sat. He threw his arm around the other man's shoulder, and said, "Listen. We will be leaving and coming back before your news slot, I've accounted for that. There will be no beer-" The party groaned, and Enjolras arched an eyebrow. "And no hanky panky." Another groan. "We'll all be mature, responsible adults."

"You've never been a responsible adult in your life." Enjolras noted.

"That is neither here nor there." Courfeyrac rolled his eyes. "Are you in?"

The party looked at him expectantly.

"Yes," He sighed. "I'm in."

~~~~~

Enjolras wasn't accstomed to long travel in a car with four other men. He was more used to 5 minute car journeys, or if he did have to go cross-country, relaxing train rides. He dressed simply, in a plaid shirt and jeans, and grabbed the sports bag with his things in. As he rounded the corner of Courfeyrac and Marius's apartment uilding, he caught sight of the open boot; filled with the other bags and a lot of booze.

"I thought you said no alcohol?" Enjolras accused, as he met up with Courfeyrac, wearing a daisy over his left ear and a pair of flashy sunglasses.

"Ah." Courfeyrac smiled, putting his hands on his hips. "I said no beer. What you see in there is spirits and cocktails."

Enjolras growled under his breath. God damned Courfeyrac, Smart-arse extraordinare. "Which car am I in?" He asked. There were two cars parked on the tiny street; one was Bahorel's, and one was Courfeyrac's. With a party of nine, they needed the two cars.

"Mine. You're in the four - me, Jehan, you and Grantaire. And then Grantaire and Marius'll probably swap with Bossuet and  Joly halfway, because you'll kill poor R if you're in the car with him for more than two hours, I reckon."

"Probably." Grantaire nodded.

"Is he drunk already?" Enjolras jerked a thumb at Grantaire, who staggered slightly as he got into the car.

Courfeyrac shrugged. "Who knows."

Enjolras sighed, and Courfeyrac shut the boot. "Right, gentlemen," He grinned. "Onward!"

The party cheered, getting into the respective cars. Enjolras was forced into the back of Courfeyrac's Renault Clio next to Marius and Grantaire, who was sober enough to sit up straight and stare out of the window, make Enjolras think that maybe he was okay.

~~~~~

They stopped at a service station almost exactly half way there, 2 hours and ten minutes later. Enjolras was sick. Car sick, no. Sick of Grantaire, yes. He had never been able to deny - well, not to himself anyways - the small tingle of  attraction he felt between them, but after two hours and ten minutes that had felt more like two years and ten months in the back of the car with him, he was ready to leave him at the service station and MAYBE pick him up on the way back.

After a cup of well earned coffee and a sandwich that was probably out of date, Enjolras was back in the car, this time in the front, seeing as he had forced Jehan into the back (much to the annoyance of Courfeyrac).

"How am I supposed to hold his hand now?" Courfeyrac whined.

"It's all right, cher." Jehan said gently.

"I'll hold his hand for you if you want." Bossuet offered.

"That'd be nice." Jehan nodded.

Courfeyrac nodded. "Go ahead."

The two in the back seat joined hands, and that was that. The exchange happened so quickly that Enjolras had to take a moment to actually process it before he could say, "If you were driving properly, you wouldn't have been holding his hand." He raised a blonde eyebrow in an accusing arc, and Courfeyrac snorted.

"I am a perfectly good driver, one handed or otherwise." He nodded.

Enjolras raised his eyebrows and looked out of the window, not wanting to argue that point, when the dent in Courfeyrac's bonnet from where he had driven into a lamp post clearly stated otherwise.

"So where are we staying, Courf?" Bossuet asked a while later.

"Please say a proper hotel and not a hostel." Joly worried.

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes. "A beach house, actually. My oldest sister spends the summer in Brittany-"

"So why isn't she there?" Joly asked.

"Because," Corfeyrac began again, slowly. "She is going over to England to spend summer with her husband's family. And thus, the beach house is empty."

"Will we all fit?" Jehan asked.

"'Course." Courfeyrac shrugged, his eyes strictly on the road since Enjolras's not-comment on his driving. "It's a big house. We might need some floor space, but we'll be okay."

The boys in the back nodded, and Jehan smiled, " _I'll travel south and I'll travel north, I'll travel east and I'll travel west, I just want to find the road that is best._ "

"Liam Hughes?" Courfeyrac guessed, his voice conveying fondness.

"Indeed." Jehan smiled, crossing his floral denim clad legs and leaning heavily against Bossuet.

~~~~~

The beach house was huge. It was only two floors high, the ground and the top, but it stretched over so much land that it was hard to see where it started and where it stopped. It opened out onto the beach, the sand turning to paving stones a few yards from the wooden porch of the house, and the crashing of the waves was a contant background noise.

The cars were unpacked, the alcohol being taken in first as it was the most revered of all of their cargo. It was stashed in the fridge, and under the stairs, and in the attic, and then Courfeyrac hid the rest of it, so that Grantaire wouldn't get his hands on it. Enjolras then took his bag out of the back of the car, and asked, "So where are we all staying?"

"Well," Courfeyrac began, pulling his own and then Jehan's bag from the trunk. "There are only 4 rooms, big as the house may seem. Two have double beds, and two have single beds. There's a sofa bed in the attic, too, so that can be brought down and someone can sleep on that, and someone'll have to sleep on the floor, probably."

"So who's sharing?" Feuilly asked, waking Marius who had fallen asleep on the journey. "Well, I thought that Jehan and I could take a double bed, and then Joly and Bossuet could take a double bed, but then I decided, whilst driving, that a Hunger Games of sorts would be better."

"A hunger games?" Marius asked groggily.

"Oui." Courfeyrac nodded smugly. "So," He locked his car and stepped up the porch steps to the door. "Gentlemen," He put his key in the lock, and turned it. The door clicked, to signify that the door was now unlocked. "Let the games begin."

~~~~~

Enjolras, being as slim and agile as he was, was in the lead for the bedroom of his choice. He knew what he wanted; a single bed, preferably as far away from the double rooms as he could possibly be, because the sounds of copulation wasn't a pleasant wake up call.

But, just as he was about to reach the room at the end of the hall, very far away from the grim promise of coitus, he was overtaken by Feuilly and Bahorel; Feuilly held his hand aloft, pointing Bahorel in the right direction, who was currently giving Feuilly a piggy back. Enjolras was pushed out of the way, and he frowned. "They don't even have their cases!" He cried, as they each chose a bed.

"Doesn't matter." Feuilly shrugged. "We got here first."

"Fine." Enjolras muttered. "Then I claim the sofa bed."

"Too late," Combeferre said, as he carried the folded up sofa into the room, and set it down against the wall that had a  window with a sea view. "I knew I wouldn't be able to compete against these lot; I went and got it."

"And I helped, seeing as Courfeyrac went and scored our room." Jehan smiled.

Enjolras let out a growl of indignation, and stomped along to the other bedroom. There was no way he was sleeping on the floor. He was in the room adjoining to Joly and Bossuet's, which would be bad enough; he didn't need the cold hard floor giving him spinal issues.

Luckily, Grantaire had yet to get up the stairs, much less get a room, and he was going to take advantage of that. He took the bed on the inside of the room, against the wall that joined his and the couple's room together, seeing as Marius had already claimed the bed with the sea view. Grantaire stumbled in shortly after, and groaned.

"Floor for me, then." He muttered, throwing himself down in his chosen spot.

"No different to usual, eh?" Marius grinned. Grantaire grinned too. Enjolras made a noise of disgust.

"Get your costumes on, ladies!" Courfeyrac yelled from somewhere in the massive house. "We're going swimming!"


	2. Loneliness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The loneliness you get by the sea is personal and alive.It doesn't subdue you and make you abject. It's stimulating loneliness." - Anne Morrow Lindbergh

At first, Enjolras had down right refused. He was not going into that water lest he be knocked unconscious and dragged into it. His refusal had lasted right up until Bahorel had tried to tug his shirt over his had and Feuilly had tried to pull his trousers down. Then he had muttered a small sound of assent under his breath, growled slightly, and trudged off to the bathroom to get changed.

Now he sat on the sand, his legs stretched out in front of him as he leaned back on his hands. He couldn't deny that the sand under his feet and between his fingers, and the salty sea air in his face, seeping into his pores and his skin was good. There was a cold breeze blowing, but he didn't mind, really; the beach was relaxing.

As long as he was by himself.

"Enj! Get your ass in here!" Courfeyrac grinned from the water. His dark hair was drenched in tiny droplets, that dropped onto his body and rolled down his pale skin till they returned to their home. It looked cold; his extremities were red, but he seemed happy enough. Then again, Courfeyrac was always smiling.

"No." He answered curtly, wiggling his toes as he thought about how happy and dry he was.

Courfeyrac looked to Grantaire, who chuckled. He was only waist deep in the water, splashing around with Marius and Jehan. He waded out of the water, and Enjolras frowned at him suspiciously. The cold sea water had obviously sobered him, as he walked strongly and purposefully across the sand towards the man. As if he was nothing heavier than a sack of potatoes, Grantaire scooped him up and threw him over his shoulder, carrying him towards the water fireman-style. Enjolras was appalled. He could feel the cold from Grantaire's bare skin, that was as wet and as cold as ice, and he knew he was not going to like what he was coming.

He tried to threaten him as he got too close to the water. "I swear to God, R, you better put me down, or so help me-"

"'Or so help you' what?" He asked with a smirk to his voice.

"Or I'll-" His threat was cut shut as he was thrown into the water. He shut his eyes against the salt, and held his breath to keep the water from flooding his lungs. It was freezing cold, like liquid nitrogen pouring into his veins and over his skin, freezing him to the bone. It took him a while to surface.

His hair, once a beautiful curly blonde, was now disheveled and a dirty blonde colour, as it dripped salty droplets onto his face. He glared at Grantaire, his eyes filling with hatred. He breathed deeply for a few moments, and then said in a voice that was almost a growl, "I'm going to get you Grantaire."

And that was when Enjolras's formalities disappeared.

~~~~~

"I hope you realise that that is never happening ever again." Enjolras huffed with a smirk as he rubbed the towel over his tussled hair.

"Don't worry, Joly got it all on camera." Bossuet grinned as he slipped his still sandy feet into his shoes.

"All of it?" Enjolras asked with a small smirk and a raised eyebrow.

"Almost." Joly nodded. "I knew it was a once in a life time opportunity. I felt like a wildlife documentarist."

Enjolras let out a chuckle, and followed Courfeyrac back to the house, who had the lean looking Jehan tucked under his arm, pressed to his side to share their warmth.

He felt a pang of loneliness that he wasn't quite used to as he trudged through the sand to the beach; he wasn't often in a relationship ("Because France is his girlfriend, wife and mistress" Combeferre said with a solemn nod, and Courfeyrac said with a heroic tone and a wink) and he never felt the need to be in one, but in that moment he did miss the warmth of someone else's skin against his own, which was cold and a raw looking red colour from the arctic water. He thought that perhaps, tonight, his single bed would feel disagreeably empty tonight, even if there was only room for one in it.

Anne Morrow Lindbergh had said that "The loneliness you get by the sea is personal and alive." Enjolras had never understood that until that moment.

~~~~~

Dinner was a tapas, of sorts; a whole manner of things that were passed around the circular table which was packed with bodies that laughed and jested and nudged each other and shared tipsy, joyful grins. It was comprised of whatever one man knew how to cook and whatever could be found in the fridge. Much of it was close to its use-by date, as it had been left by Courfeyrac's family for his arrival. They used it all, not wanting anything left over - they would go on a group food shopping trip at some point tomorrow.

Plates were passed round the table until each body had one, as were bottles of beer and glasses of water, whichever the person preferred, and then the dishes were passed round; Bahorel's crude looking chicken wings, Jehan's pineapple and shrimp skewers, Feuilly's potato salad, Marius's stuffed peppers. Everyone had contributed something, and no waste was left. The bowls of hot, delicious smelling food were passed round from one man to another until they were empty. And then each man sat back, sipping at his beer or rubbing his stomach absent mindedly, and everyone took a moment to breath.

"I've got a bit of sweat going after all that," Feuilly grinned.

Marius chuckled. "I don't think I've ever eaten so much in my life."

"It's not going to be like this every night mind, boys," Courfeyrac said, about to continue, when he was interrupted by Joly.

"Good - obesity's a killer." he grinned good-naturedly, elbowing Bossuet in the ribs, who already looked a little rounder.

The group laughed, and each took a minute to breathe. Each felt a little tired, worn out from the cramped car journey, the salty sea water and the feast they'd just gorged themselves on. They retired to the living room a little while after. It was a large room, with a sofa and two arm chairs and a shag-pile rug spread out on a granite floor. Images danced across the television, its volume down low as each man slowly began to drop off. Jehan was first; he fell asleep curled up on Courfeyrac's lap, his head tucked into the hollow at Courfeyrac's neck. After half an hour or so of that, Courfeyrac grunted, gathered Jehan up in his arms and went to bed. Marius retired next, sleepily dragging himself in the direction of the stair case with Combeferre slugging along behind him. The others took a while to drop, but when Joly and Bossuet fell asleep on each other and awoke with a small start, they decided to go to bed too, with hands loosely entwined. And then it was just Enjolras, Grantaire, Bahorel and Feuilly, stubbornly hanging on to consciousness. Feuilly, sitting on the floor and leaning against the worn looking sofa was the first to bow his head and give in, and when Bahorel caught this, he nudged him in the ribs gently. Feuilly woke with a start, and Bahorel jerked his head at the stairs. Feuilly nodded in silent assent, and the two made their way upstairs, careful not to disturb their brothers as they went. And then it was just Enjolras and Grantaire, one slumped on the sofa, his pale limbs at full stretch, and the other lying on the shag-pile rug, playing with the stringy pieces of black fabric and crossing his ankles.

"Not tired?" Grantaire asked, looking up at Enjolras from his place on the floor.

"Not really." Enjolras replied. "You?"

"Nu-uh." Grantaire said. He tugged at a piece of fabric, thinking perhaps it would come out, but all it did was raise the rug. He sighed. Grantaire was feeling as lonely as Enjolras in that moment. So, unlike Enjolras, he decided to take action. "Shove up." he grunted, moving over to the sofa to lift Enjolras's legs and place himself underneath them. Warily, Enjolras lowered his legs back down, and Grantaire rested an arm on them. It was a comfortable arrangement, and neither man had any quarrel with it. 

Eventually, as he grew more tired, Grantaire slumped to his left, further down onto Enjolras's stretched out body. His head rested on the other man's hip, and his legs curled up beneath his own. And that was how they slept, curled up against one another, enjoying the heat that warmed them where their skin touched, unconsciousness taking away any objection Enjolras had to Grantaire or his morals.


	3. Food

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Like religion, politics, and family planning, cereal is not a topic to be brought up in public. It's too controversial." - Erma Bomeck

The next morning, however, his objections to both Grantaire and his morals returned.

When he woke he was aware of two things: firstly, the other man's head lying on his hip; his shirt had ridden up during the  night to expose the flesh and Grantaire's nose was pressed against it. He frowned, and swung his legs over onto the floor.  And then he stood, allowing the other body to flop almost lifelessly onto the sofa.

Secondly he was aware of the sound of voices from the kitchen some small way behind them, and the delicious smell of something warm and sweet that seemed to accompany the side as it wafted towards him. Enjolras, though his clouded  with sleep and still stiff from the strange position he had spent the night in, padded along in the direction of the food, like a bloodhound following the scent.

When he got to the kitchen, what he found didn't surprise him. Feuilly was sat at the table with his head resting on his arms; Bahorel was sat beside him, with the newspaper open in front of him, his thumb ready to turn the page; Jehan sat facing the stove, his knees pulled up to his chest and his toes curling around the edge of the seat; and finally Courf, stood semi-naked at the stove, his unruly bouncing out in all different directions as he cooked what Enjolras thought might be pancakes.

He was right; as he leaned against the doorway Courfeyrac spun round to reveal the pan with the pancake that was studded with blueberries. He slid it onto Jehan's plate, but not before he had greeted Enjolras with a grin. "Enjolras! How're ya? Saw you sleeping on the couch with R. Did you two...?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"No." Enjolras answered curtly.

Jehan smirked, and Courfeyrac continued to grin as if nothing was wrong. "Pancakes?" He asked.

Enjolras took a seat and mumbled a 'yes, please'. When Bahorel put the paper down, he picked it up and scanned for any breaking news.

"A load of crap." Bahorel mumbled. "Waste of money."

Enjolras decided he was right, and folded the paper with a sigh. He shoved it to the middle of the table, only to find the space he had created now occpied with a fresh white plate and a hot, chocolate-chip riddled pancake.

"Thanks." he mumbled, picking up a fork and stabbing at it in his still half-asleep state.

"Morning Combeferre!" Courfeyrac sang.

Combeferre entered the room, already dressed, and took a seat next to Enjolras. He pushed his glasses up his nose and replied, "Morning."

"Pancake?" Courfeyrac offered.

Combeferre wrinkled his nose. "Nah. I'll just have coffee. I think."

Courfeyrac shook his head. "You need a good breakfast, you have a big day today."

"I do?" Combeferre frowned.

"Mm." Courfeyrac nodded. "We all do. Which is why I'm making pancakes. See?" He put one on a plate and placed it in  front of Combeferre.

Feuilly raised his head. "Big day?" He asked.

"Well, sure." Courfeyrac nodded. "We have to go food shopping because I officially used the last of the food in the fridge and the cupboards, and then we're just going to have a wander round while we're there, but I figure it's going to be a big day. So eat up."

"Food shopping?" Bahorel asked.

"Mm hm." Courfeyrac nodded.

"All of us?" Combeferre asked.

Jehan smiled. Courfeyrac nodded.

"Great." Enjolras muttered, pushing his empty plate away and standing up to get and get dressed.

~~~~~

Combeferre wheeled the shopping cart slowly round the supermarket. It was slowly getting full, and it was mainly of junk. It was only himself and Enjolras who were putting anything sensible in it, and they were both beginning to understand why dinner at Courfeyrac's often involved peanut butter and some kind of bread.

"Oreos! Can't do without oreos." Courfeyrac threw them in.

"I found some wasabi peas. What are wasabi peas?" They were thrown in anyways by Feuilly.

Bossuet slipped next to a 'wet floor' sign. Joly rushed to his aid. The group stopped for a second before he picked himself up, brushed himself off, and grinned. "I'm okay!" He smiled. "But now I get one free pass to put something in the cart." And then he rushed - carefully - away with Joly to find what he wanted.

"I have Rusks!" Jehan smiled, throwing them into the cart.

"Why do we want Rusks?" Enjolras asked.

"Aren't those for babies?" Bahorel asked.

"I like them." Jehan shrugged. He pulled a wildflower he found from the bottom of his braid and tucked it behind his ear. Courfeyrac came up behind him and wrapped an arm around his waist.

"Oo, rusks." He grinned, pressing a kiss to Jehan's cheek. "We need more frozen things. And less biscuits." He nodded.

"Probably." Combeferre grinned. He began pushing the trolley more rapidly out of the confectionary isle towards the  frozen section.

"Chicken nuggets!"

"Oven chips!"

"Potato waffles - I have potato waffles!"

"Ice cream!"

"No more frozens!" Courfeyrac ordered eventually, when he decided that the stuff on the bottom was starting to defrost. "Cereal. And only two boxes, okay?"

That was what caused the argument.

Grantaire's eyes narrowed. "I swear to God, put the cocoa-pops in the cart!"

"But what about the Fruit Loops? If we have cocoa-pops we can't have Fruit Loops because we've already decided on the Captain Crunch." Marius whined.

"If I don't get my cocoa-pops so help me, God-" Grantiare was cut off by Enjolras, who said:

"Just put the in the cart. And the Fruit Loops. Go. Just go." Marius nodded happily, put the box in the cart, and they carried on.

~~~~~

The cart filled up more and more, until it was getting to the point where both Enjolras _and_ Combeferre had to push it round. When Courfeyrac realised, he put his hands on his hips.

"I think we have too much." He said.

"Maybe a tad." Enjolras murmured as he tried to push the cart round the corner.

"I suggest we go to the checkout." Courfeyrac nodded.

"Good idea." Enjolras said, sighing as he tried to turn the cart back round with Combeferre's help.

The lady on the checkout didn't seem pleased when they rolled up with ten guys and a shopping cart way too full of food. But she said nothing as she began to pull their items over the scanner and into the brown paper bags waiting at the end of the counter. Meanwhile, the guys stood around, looking disbelievingly at all the food.

"How are we gonna eat all that in like four days?" Marius asked, as he stood with his hands in his pockets.

Bahorel shrugged. "I think we'll find a way." He said.

Enjolras's eyes narrowed as he watched the lady on the checkout pull another item through. "Vodka?" He spun to look at Courfeyrac. "Why do you have vodka?"

"And plastic shot glasses. Oh, and more vodka." Combeferre narrated the scene in front of him to Enjolras, who glared at Courfeyrac.

"We're having a little Amis party." Courfeyrac shrugged. "With party games. And stuff. It'll be fun!"

"Sure." Enjolras rolled his eyes.

"It will!" Courfeyrac frowned. "We'll have a fire on the beach and we'll drink and eat Rusks and it'll be divine. Believe me. And anyways, you're going whether you want to or not because I'm kicking us all out of the house and locking the door, and I will be putting the key somewhere where no one wants to go. Except maybe Jehan."

Jehan blushed. Enjolras was thrown for a second, and then he sighed. "Fine."

Courfeyrac grinned. "Awesome. Glad you're in."

"Me too." He muttered.

"236 Euros!" The lady called.

"I'm going to let you get that." Enjolras smiled, putting a hand on Courfeyrac's shoulder. "I'll take these out to the cars."

Everyne picked up a bag, or two, and some where lifted into the cart, which was hauled away by Jehan. Courfeyrac sighed, taking a few steps towards the lady on the checkout as he opened his wallet, holding out a thing blue card between two fingers. "Thanks." He said, looking away as she swiped it into the machine.


	4. Alcohol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Here's to alcohol: the cause of, and answer to, all of life's problems." - Matt Groening

When Enjolras stepped out of the shower and padded along to his bedroom, he found it suspiciously empty. He walked over to the window, rubbing one of the two clean towels he had hidden under his bed against his hair in an attempt to dry it. There was already a fire starting on the beach, with two or three bodies sat around it, but it was small - the rest of the group seemed to be scattered, searching for driftwood to through onto the fire.

Enjolras had a feeling the night was going to be colder than the day, which had been beautifully warm and sunny. The sun was already beginning to set over the beach in Brittany, so he decided, once had dried himselff off, that trousers rather than shorts were the way to go.

The chinos he pulled from his suitcase tucked under his bed were slightly creased, but he tugged them on anways, and pulled the shirt over his head that he had been wearing during the day; the sleeves reached the middle of his forearms, so it would keep him warm if it was going to get cold.

His hair was still slightly damp, but he trudged down to the beach anyways. A few more people had cluminated around the fire now, and piles of wood were building up. Some larger pieces of wood had been set around it in a circle, and people lounged on the make-shift benches as if they had been there all along. As he reached them, the group waved, and  Courfeyrac held his arms out. He had a bottle of vodka in one hand, but it looked like it was still unopened.

"Enjolras! Glad you joined us. Well. Not like you had a choice, I was going to up and drag you out if you had of taken any longer. Sit down, have a drink!"

Enjolras had always found Courfeyrac to be the best of hosts. Not only was he charming, and his laughter was infectious, but he had the manner that made anyone feel welcome and homely no matter where they were. Now, for instance, he gave Enjolras a grin that seemed so genuine that he didn't want to disappoint, so he picked up a beer and sat down next to Joly, who smiled quite happily at him.

"Right!" Courfeyrac smiled when everyone took their seats. "I think we're all here. So. I'm calling party games."

"What are we playing, pass the parcel?" Grantaire grinned.

Courfeyrac laughed. "Maybe later." He grinned. "No. What we are going to play, though, is Never Have I Ever."

The group whooped. Courfeyrac grinned.

"So for those who don't know, but I think we all do, let's recount the rules." He sounded like a game show host, which only added to the humor of the situation. "The first player, i.e me, will say 'Never Have I Ever' followed by something they've never done. Or y'know. Something they want to find out what other people have done." Chuckles from everyone. "And then, if you have done that thing, you drink your shot."

"Which we don't have." Feuilly informed him.

"Oh," Courfeyrac murmured. "Right. Love-" He held the bottle out to Jehan. "If you could do the honours."

Jehan nodded, took the bottle, and started handing out the tiny plastic shot glasses, which he filled as he went round. Meanwhile, Courfeyrac continued with his Game Show Host act.

"If no one else drinks to your statement, you have to drink. Get it? Awesome." Jehan filled up his shot glass, and then sat down. "Let the game commence." He grinned. Of course he was starting. It would be unnatural for him not to. "Let's start off easy. Never Have I Ever... stolen something."

Bahorel and Grantaire took a drink. Reluctantly, so did Enjolras.

Grantaire raised an eyebrow. "What did you ever steal?"

"Apart from your heart?" Jehan grinned wickedly, wiggling his eyebrows.

Grantaire shot him a grin and looked back to Enjolras.

The fire in his throat was still burning when he replied, "Bread roles for a homeless women. I was 16."

"Ah, his first hobo." Bossuet held his hand to his heart and looked dreamily off into the distance.

The group laughed. Now it was Feuilly's turn.

"Never Have I Ever..." He thought, and then grinned. "Had car sex."

"That escalated quickly." Combeferre muttered.

Grantaire, Courfeyrac, Jehan and Marius knocked back their shots, and there ws some hissing and groaning over the taste.

"Next!" Courfeyrac ordered.

The shot glasses were refilled and Bahorel pondered over what he could ask. "Never Have I Ever slept with the best friend's ex."

No one drank, now. So, as the rules stated, Bahorel drank his own shot, and filled the glass back up again.

Marius had already thought of his, and so he gave a grin before saying confidently, "Never Have I Ever sucked a dick."

Everyone in the group drank, except for Marius and Combeferre. Grantaire was starting to look a bit drunk. Everyone else seemed to be getting there. Combeferre rested his elbows on his knees and thought. "Never Have I Ever," He began, "Had sex on the beach."

Courfeyrac drank up, but he was the only one. So they moved swiflty onto Grantaire.

"Never Have I Ever had sex with a woman." His words were beginning to slur slightly, but he spoke confidently enough. Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow.

"You liar." He teased. "You'll put it anything that has an oraface."

Grantaire shrugged, and recounted what Courfeyrac had said about the rules. "Or y'know. Something they want to find out  what other people have done." He mimicked. Courfeyrac grinned, and nodded, and then drank his own shot. Combeferre, Marius, Enjolras and Bahorel followed suit. Their glasses were refilled.

A few rounds later and everyone was on the wrong side of drunk. "Never Have I Ever," Courfeyrac grinned, "had a dream about someone here. And when I say dream, I think you know what I mean."

Jehan, Joly, Bossuet, Grantaire, and an embarrassed Feuilly drank up. Courfeyrac grinned, and there were a few murmurs and yells from everyone. "Never Have I Ever-" Feuilly began, but he was cut off.

"Nuh-uh." Courfeyrac shook his head. "We're out of vodka." he held the bottle upside down, and a few droplets fell onto the sand. The fire was blazing now, and even in his tipsy state, Enjolras worried about it catching the flames. "So since  this is empty, I say we play spin the bottle."

"How can we play spin the bottle?" Grantaire frowned. "The fire's in the way."

"Hm," Courfeyrac murmured. "That it is quite the predi... predic... predicament." He said. "I know!" He cried, moments later. "We will just relocate ourselves to the sand just next to the fire, in another circle. Gentlemen?"

They nodded and murmured comments of assent, and then reassembled themselves on the sandy floor next to the fire, sat in another circle rather like the one before. "I'll spin first!" Then he remembered Jehan. "Hang on-" He looked to him, sat by his side. "D'you mind?"

"Not at all." Jehan shook his head.

"Me neither. Awesome." He spun the bottle, a little too ferociously, and it took a while to eventually settle on Joly.

"Bossuet," Courfeyrac began, before he made a move. "Would you mind if I maybe snogged your life partner?"

"Go ahead," Bossuet grinned.

The two who had been selected reached over the empty space of the inner circle and pressed their lips together, more passionately than perhaps Joly had wanted. When they pulled away, he wiped his hand on the back of his mouth. Courfeyrac grinned. "Don't pretend you didn't enjoy it." he winked.

Jehan was next, and when he spun it landed on Feuilly. "Come here, Byron." Feuilly grinned, giving Jehan an over  exaggerated kiss.

Bahorel went next, and when it landed on Feuilly, the other man blushed. They kissed, but it went on for a lot longer than expected; it took Courfeyrac throwing the bottle off them to eventually pull them apart.

"Your turn, Enj!" Courfeyrac grinned. Enjolras sighe a little, looked reluctant, and then spun the bottle. It spun for what seemed like an eternity. _Let it be Courfeyrac_ , he thought. _Or Jehan. Or Joly._  And then it stopped. And he groaned  internally. He reluctantly crawled over the space to the other man, and pressed his lips to his. Grantaire then pushed his own lips further onto Enjolras's, and what Enjolras had hoped would be a small peck turned into french kiss.

"Get in there, R!" Bahorel whooped.

Grantaire ignored him. Just as Enjolras ignored how much he liked it. Or tried to, anways. When they parted, finally, Grantaire gave him a wink, and Enjolras shook his head slightly to clear it from the clouding that had occured in the seconds, that had felt like hours, that had held their kiss. The group seemed to take a moment to recover from that one, before Courfeyrac grinned, "Joly! Your turn!"


	5. Hangover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Never let a fool kiss you or a kiss fool you." - Joey Adams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a filler chapter whilst I find my feet with this fandom and this story again.

Enjolras wanted to leave, wanted to leave the party behind and go to bed, curl up on his side and sleep through the drunkenness. But he knew, of course, that he never got what he wanted, because ‘want never gets’, and because it would be too suspicious for him to leave 2 minutes after that kiss with Grantaire. So he waited. He waited for a long time, until the game disintegrated, and everyone had kissed everyone else, and the alcohol was all gone, and half the party had fell asleep. And then he helped to stomp out the roaring fire and carry the dead-weight of his friends back to the beach house, where they were all slung onto the living room floor.

Enjolras couldn’t sit in the living room with the others, though; he needed to be alone, and preferably outside in a vague attempt to sober up before he went to bed. He walked out onto the porch with a glass of stale tasting water, and leaned against the white railing with the peeling paint.

He closed his eyes, letting the sea air watch over him. He held each deep, deep breath for five seconds before exhaling.

1, 2, 3, 4 ,5-

Exhale.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5-

Inhale.

1, 2, 3-

“Enjolras?”

His soothingly rhythmic breathing was broken by Grantaire’s voice, so soft and so sober behind him that Enjolras wondered if, in actual fact, he was imagining it. He didn’t turn to look at him, deciding he was a tad too drunk to do so, and instead let the salty air blow through his thick golden curls whilst he stared out to sea.

“Enjolras we need to talk.” Grantaire insisted, taking a few steps forward to stand beside him. He curled his hands around the railing with white knuckles; Enjolras pretended not to notice.

“Do we?” He asked, feeling a little light headed. He needed to lie down before he fell down.

Grantaire sighed. “You know we do.”

There was silence, and Enjolras wondered if Grantaire was waiting for him to argue. He wasn’t in the mood to argue, tonight. Rather, he wanted to leave. He was about to do so when Grantaire continued, “That kiss-”

“Meant nothing.” Enjolras finished for him.

Grantaire’s face fell slightly. “It didn’t?”

“It didn’t.” Enjolras confirmed.

Grantaire exhaled slowly through his mouth, and Enjolras frowned, annoyed at the sound it made. Annoyed at himself for lying to him. Annoyed at Courfeyrac for putting him in this position in the first place.

“I’m going to bed.” Enjolras announced, turning away from the railing, glass of water forgotten.

“Enj-” Grantaire sighed, reaching out a hand to grab his forearm.

Enjolras scowled at him. “I’m going to bed.” He repeated.

After staring at him for a long moment, in which Enjolras certainly swayed slightly, Grantaire gave a small huff and let him go. It took Enjolras a moment to respond. He tugged on his jacket, scowled at R one more time, and then went back inside.

When he got to his room, and to his bed, he kicked off his shoes, peeled off his jacket, and crawled beneath the sheets, tired and just about ready to die.

~~~~~

Enjolras had suffered few hangovers in his entire existence, and mainly because he was careful. He always ate before he left, and he never drank until he was too drunk to stand, but if he did he always had a glass of water to level himself out before he went to bed.

The night before the morning after, he had done no such thing.

And now he was paying for it, his head pounding as he pushed himself off of the bed on shaky arms. The room around him felt too loud, too bright, like everything had been magnified and multiplied by a thousand, as if his senses had been heightened to an unbearable degree. He managed to stumble down the hall and down the stairs and into the kitchen, following the scent of waffles and freshly brewed coffee.

He expected to see Courfeyrac at the oven, or maybe Combeferre, so he was surprised by what he saw.

Courfeyrac and Jehan were sat at the table, both of them slumped over onto folded arms, and Bahorel sat opposite them, his arm draped over his eyes. Combeferre was nowhere to be seen; at the stove stood Grantaire, in holey sweats and a greying white t-shirt, spatula in hand as he attempted to make eggs for Bahorel, who was allergic to waffles (it had been the top of Breakfast Conversation quite a few times).

He certainly hadn’t forgotten any of yesterday’s goings on, and it seemed like Grantaire hadn’t either. With one glance up to identify the newcomer in the kitchen, his eyes dropped back down to the pan in front of him.

“Coffee there for you.” He said, nudging a steaming cup of black coffee towards him. “I don’t advise eating just yet.”

Enjolras decided to take his advice, seeing as Grantaire was always either hung over or drunk, and Enjolras couldn’t even the remember the last time he’d felt this bad. So he took the cup of coffee and took a seat, as far away as he could possibly be from Grantaire without actually leaving the room.

“We’re never drinking on the beach ever, ever, _ever_ again.” Courfeyrac moaned.

Jehan patted his shoulder as best he could without opening his eyes or moving his head from his folded arms. Bossuet appeared at the kitchen door, only to turn around, shaking his head. “I’m gonna throw up.” He informed them as he walked away.

Grantaire wouldn’t look at Enjolras and Enjolras didn’t want him to. He knew he’d been harsh the night before, harsher than he should have been, but that kiss- it was passion and it was heat and it was fireworks whooshing in his ears and butterflies hitting against his stomach but it was wrong. It was wrong because Enjolras never got involved. Never went for that sort of thing. Never put his heart on the line.


End file.
